It will probably be hot today...

What time is it? Maybe it’s early, still. Daylight is already blinding, but the air is cool from the summer night.

She does not like hot days much. Her back will be wet from sweating, and she will not have the strength to turn herself over. In this dark corner at the nursing home, it will be rare if the nurse will see her and give her help.

Thinking about it makes her hate her old age. In the old days, just a few months earlier, she was still buzzing about the kitchen. Three meals a day she took care of. She also took care of the grandchildren. Once her daughter opened the nail salon, she had no time for the children. All day long her daughter would stay at the shop, and every now and then gave her a few hundred dollars and called it compensation. Before that she had contributed to the house payment, but now, looking after the grandchildren, she considers it payment for her rent.

Rent? What else can it be? When her husband passed away, all her children asked her to come live with them so that she would not be lonely. Her youngest daughter, Út, widowed at an early age and raising her child by herself, was dear to her, so she went to live with her. As soon as she moved in, her daughter opened the shop.

Her old house now has a new older couple renting. The day of the move, she had forgotten a few items and so she came back for them. Seeing the older couple sitting on the couch watching movies together, she could not hold back her tears. Surely she must cry! Cry for her desperation. Cry for her suffering. Now she knows, whoever passes on first is the lucky one. She is now a widow, a tenant in her daughter’s house.

There are footsteps....

It’s Chí, the neighboring man’s son. Each weekend, he comes to visit, each time bringing his daughter along. The little girl is cute, but she thinks her granddaughter is perhaps more darling. It has been a while since she has seen any of her grandchildren. Since the day the hospital transferred her here —  maybe it’s been three months already —  she has had maybe a dozen visits from her family. Can’t blame anyone though. All five children are busy, not like her, with so much free time.

I am no longer useful. I cannot stand or walk, cannot speak. A liability!

She also has a son named Chí. But he was killed in military service. Actually, missing in action. But it does not matter. If not dead then why hasn’t he come home? For many years, she dared not sell her ancestral home. Her children all encouraged her to sell since the house was not officially registered, the deed not in her name. If she does not sell quickly, she is liable to lose the house altogether. But to sell, then what about all the memories: her husband, her children, her ancestral altar, her divan in the middle of the house, the cherry tree in the front yard ... all lost? And Chí, her son? If he returns and there is nothing here, what will he do? If he leaves again, she will hurt once again. No, not possible to sell!

It’s too hot. Nurse!

There is no worse misery than not being understood when you speak. Her children, hearing her mumbling, would assume that she wants to eat.
Damn you all! I live with you all all these years... I have two light meals a day, at most. Now, confined in one place, I get eight meals shoved into me a day. Truly tiresome yes? Lucky for me, you don’t come to visit often. Else I would have died of indigestion.
Thinking of death again! If it’s so easy to die, I’d have died a long time ago.

Since her husband died, she had wanted to die a few times. Married for nearly 60 years, how can they now be in different worlds? Then that day, she took a big fall, surely she should have died, but she lived. Why did she fall? She seems to have forgotten. Her memory is failing.

Footsteps...

It’s the nurse. Finally, she comes. She does not like this nurse. She hurts her. Her face is in a constant scowl (like an old bag). She is quite certain this nurse is still single.

She rolls her over to face the wall, then unbuttons her gown, wipes off her sweat, then helps her to the wheelchair, covering her with a thin sheet then headed for the bathroom.

The water is too cold!

She shivers. Every time, it’s the same. Gotta test the water first! She is shaking now, and calls out but her muted voice is drowned out by the water. Slowly it warms up, but short of two minutes, the nurse turns off the water, haplessly dries her off, dresses her, pushes her back to her room and parks her in front of the window.

It’s noon...

She feels tired today. She has never felt this tired before. When the Vi?t Minh arrived, her family had to evacuate, but she was not as tired as today. The day her husband went to B?ch Ð?ng to attempt an escape, he was already in his 60s, and she was filled with angst, as well as headaches from the incessant interrogation by the Vi?t C?ng. Still, she did not feel as tired then as she feels now. All her life, she has had more sadness than happiness, so why all the pain now? There is still something lingering, still pulling at her. Her eyesight is blurry, but her mind with its images is sharp.

Don’t think. Don’t remember anything at all! It’s all in the past. Silent! Silent all!

But she remembers...

She remembers when she first arrived here that the winter in California was too cold. Cold but happy because her family was now united here in this free land. Only the eldest son remained. Út, the youngest son, escaped with his father, the next son shortly after that. Lastly, she and the two daughters were sponsored to come here. It would take more than 10 years before the eldest son could come over. His family stayed with her and her husband for a few months then moved out. Watching them all prosper brought joy to her heart. Her offerings to Buddha at the temple were not in vain after all. The parents’ good karma accumulated to the children —  that’s how it works.

Once all the children were settled, the two of them moved out to a small subsidized house. Husband and wife would go walking at the park in the morning, feed old bread to the ducks and birds, and return home close to noon. That was in the warm season. When the cold season came, they would stay inside all day to watch television, or listen to the radio. When they had appointments with doctors or friends, they would take the bus, often transferring a number of times.

Lunch has arrived. She looks at it with disinterest: fish, white rice, green beans, carrots, orange juice, milk. Fed up, she looks skyward. Maybe I’ll just skip this one.

Every weekend her house would be crowded with children and grandchildren. Sometimes, she thought they visited out of obligation, rarely with any enthusiasm. The grandchildren were not fond of the smell of old people, she thought. Her house was small, so by afternoon, all would be taking their leave to return to their own houses. They would wave goodbye, then come back into the house, to wait for next week.
 

Children nowadays are different from the old days! Can’t blame them, though. Here, everyone is busy. Aging parents are like debts that need not be repaid. If they love you, they will look in on you; if not, then they will simply be absent. All considered, they are lucky, with family visiting every week. By contrast, the American lady next door had visitors maybe twice a year during the holidays. Other than that, she kept to her lonesome self. When she died of a heart attack, the postman by chance looked through the window and called the police. She had been dead for more than five days.
 

There was a sharp pain somewhere: the head, the foot, the heart or the stomach? Nothing seems clear to her anymore. She wanted to lift her hand and foot. But they were too heavy. She grimaced and shook her head, but the reflection in the mirror in front of her never moved — still paralyzed, uncaring and unfeeling.

There are footsteps! It’s Chí, her son. Gosh, it’s been so long since he has been by to visit.

Just the nurse. Seeing the meal untouched, she frowned and said something. I can’t speak English, we can’t converse! Tired and frustrated, the nurse cleared the meal then quickly returned, coldly lifted her to the bed.

I don’t want to lie down! Let me down! GO?

She lies down...

Some animal is slithering on her leg. She wants to move but cannot. It’s so hard to bear!

Then her legs go numb, just as if she no longer had legs.

Chí, her son, had his leg amputated. He was in pain. He died. That’s why he could not come to see her. No! She saw him just now. When? Can’t remember. Just now ... Just this minute...

Then she thought of her husband. He, too, has not been by to visit for a while now. Maybe he is very busy ? For all these years they have been together, he has never abandoned her. When he left for H?i Phòng to look for work, she had waited in Hà N?i for just shy of a month before he came back for her and the children. The time they were fleeing from the French, he was digging trenches as they went and when they came upon a monkey bridge, he carried each family member across on his back, including the maid. The bridge was long, but he always came back to her. With bombs and gunfire in all directions, he still returned for her. When they said goodbye at B?ch Ð?ng Pier, she shed all of her tears. And as soon as he landed, he immediately sent her a letter. A letter a month followed until they were reunited. Why has there been no news for so long?

She needed salt to make soup so she pulled a chair to climb up. The chair spun out from underneath. She fell. So painful.

Th?o, the daughter, said house prices are going up, so they should buy quickly or else they won’t be able to afford it. She wants to help her daughter but there is only enough money for funeral expenses. She told her daughter to wait because prices will surely come down. That made her daughter angry. It’s not very bright of my daughter! Both husband and wife are engineers and yet they refused to buy when house prices were lower. Just the other day, a house close by was for sale, quite charming. She’d mentioned it but it was shot down rather quickly. Now they blame her.

Her eyes are heavy. She shuts them briefly then opens them again right away.

Flash! Can’t close my eyes yet. Not yet.

There are sounds of children playing in the school yard where her husband used to teach. The day he left Hà N?i for Sài Gòn, they cried until their eyes were puffy, following to send him off all the way to his ship. In Sài Gòn, they were put up by another family for almost a week before it was discovered that they were with the wrong family. Her husband asked to leave his wife and children in their care, while he rode his bike to search for the right family. The next day he came back for them and moved to a new place, quite modest, but very inexpensive. He offered more classes, and from then started building a bigger, better home. Once again, it was noisy with children.

The day the Vi?t C?ng took over, they lost it all. Because of his age, her husband did not go to jail. They squirreled money to buy a boat to escape. They were swindled and lost their savings. Her boys, one after another, took to the sea, but one by one they were captured and jailed. The day the eldest son returned, gaunt and dirty as a ghost, their hearts shattered. Not until 1985 did her husband and Út, the youngest try to get out again. This time they made it to the island. She and the children were elated. The secret police called her in for an interrogation: “Where did the teacher go? Where is Út?”

She would only say they were away on business. Eventually the police lost interest and let her go. She hid his letters as if they were criminal evidence, quietly waiting for the day of their reunion. Then Toàn, the next son, wanted to escape after failing his school entrance exam. She tried to dissuade him, until her tears were dried, without success, and so she lived with constant anxiety until the day she got news of his boat’s rescue.

Have to close my eyes, they are so tired. What will I see? Darkness? No. There is a bright light, very bright yet not blinding.

Who is that? It’s Chí! Why are you so skinny? Poor thing! Mom told you to go to school in Ðà L?t but you would not listen, insisting on being a soldier to make your Mom suffer. What do you say? Come closer my child. Don’t go! Don’t go!

What is this sound? Music. The old man is watching TV late again. Mercy me! Old man, please come to bed!

The light dimmed. Cannot be off yet! There is unfinished business still...

She feels cold in her head, and light, as if she were sitting on air. She exhales hard and felt her back touching the bed again. Cannot take flight yet. Not done yet.

The granddaughter did not like the bland soup. She needed to add salt. She was out of salt. The bag of salt was on the high shelf. She pulled a chair to climb up. The chair spun. She fell...

Don’t sell the house, OK, children? Brother Chí is home. He needs a home while waiting for your Dad to sponsor him to come to Mom. Father, you need to do the paperwork right away lest things get delayed. Mom noticed that recently your Dad has gotten quite weak.

Remember to prune the cherry tree every year. Every New Year, it blossoms in all its glory. Mommy really loves our family’s cherry tree! Chí, please take care of the house and your Dad will sponsor you to come here with mom. Son, do you hear Mommy? Why do you always disobey your mother?

Why don’t you come out to Ðà L?t to go to school?

It’s too dark!

Th?o, darling, please don’t be mad at Mommy, OK? If you need money, mom will give it to you. You are the only one without a house yet. Gotta buy a house, yes? Can’t be renting the rest of your life and paying all this money to other people, right? Mom will give you money. Don’t be mad at Mom, OK?

Granddaughter does not like my soup. I have to get salt...

It’s too dark, Grandma cannot see! There is no salt...

Mice! White mice! Too many! They climbed on her body. Tickle. She flew up in the air, writhing from the tickling.

The mice left. She was paralyzed...

Lights off.

Old man, please come to bed, it’s late!

Her husband comes to bed. They bid goodnight.

The nurse frantically rings the bell. The doctor arrives. He shakes his head. She immediately goes to the office and opens the thick folder, looking for the emergency contact number: Th?o Hu?nh.

She dials the number. The phone rings.

The answering machine picks up.

An anthology featuring the winning essays has been published by Ngu?i Vi?t Daily News and is available for $22 or $25 (including shipping and handling.) For information, please call the newsroom at (714) 892-9414 or visit www.nguoivietweb.com to order.This